


The Day You Found Your Heart

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Gen, Kid Fic, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto looks down: and it looks up: and it is not a fish: and it has a human face but it is not a human, because it is so very small and because instead of legs it has a tail. Dropping to his knees, Makoto peers closer and finds himself looking into the bluest blue he has ever seen—and those blue, blue eyes are looking right back at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [Makoto's Side]

It's the last day in June when Makoto heads down to the shore all by himself for the first time. He's more than five and a half now, after all, so he's definitely big enough; even his mother and father agreed with him at breakfast this morning. 

Usually his father will lift him up onto the seawall but this time when he comes to it, he has to make his own way over. He stands on tiptoes and stretches up but his fingertips can barely touch the top edge. Dropping his heels down and rocking back on them, he looks up at where his fingertips just touched before letting his gaze drift higher. The marine layer is thick this morning but he still shields his eyes when he gets to the sun, winking at him through the haze. 

He gives the wall a comforting pat as he looks back down, thanking it for doing its job, and follows it until the ground rises on his side enough that he can climb up. A breeze picks up his hair as he reaches the top, tossing it into his eyes and blowing it back again. He curls his hands up in his pockets and stands there, watching the fishing trawls anchored on the horizon and the ones nearer, smaller boats already coming in with the day's catch. Close to the shoreline, whitecaps swell and fall, the waves murmuring to one another or maybe to the beach, maybe even to him, as they rush in only to slip away.

After a while, Makoto hops down and starts to walk on the beach, sinking in with each step. He doesn't mind how slowly the sand is making him go right now; he has to pay careful attention because, with the thickness of the marine layer, the sun isn't likely to point him to bright sparkles of sea glass just now. Low tide is the best time to look for ocean treasures, of course, and today he's hunting colorful ones for the mobile he's helping his mother make for the babies. 

He's not allowed to go _in_ the ocean by himself but he's allowed _near_ it, so he makes his way towards the water. When he gets to where the ocean has recently been, it's easier going, the wet sand left behind by the outgoing tide firmer underfoot. Three-pronged bird tracks criss-cross and when he looks up, he sees the gulls gathered nearby, wings tucked against their black-tipped backs as they stand in a small flock, quiet and unconcerned by his presence. 

He begins to walk along the edge of the ocean, just out of reach of the waves as they curl under and crash down, ruffling up the shore. He looks down to see what the foamy fingers have left this morning: driftwood, seaweed, a row of tiny crabs. He picks one up but it's already dead, stranded too long ago. He knows it's a part of life but he still feels sad as he looks at the dead little crabs, lined up so nicely and abandoned by everyone. He puts the one he's been holding back in it's place in the row, gives them a last respectful look, and goes on.

He's just found his first piece of glass, a good one—a cloudy green piece half the size of his pinky—and is running the pad of his thumb along the ocean-smoothed edges, when the overlapping cries of gulls catch his attention. There are half a dozen just off to the left, circling over the sand. When one of them makes a dive, he realizes they must have found a tidal pool. And when he sees the splashes, he realizes whatever the gulls are after is still alive.

Taking off at a run, he starts waving his arms as he gets closer. "Hey! Hey now, shoo!" He feels a little badly about chasing them away from food and tries to steer them towards the row of abandoned crabs, but the gulls scatter. He drops his arms and watches one, skimming low over the shallow waters, suddenly darting down. It tosses its head back as it comes to land and he stops feeling badly; those gulls will be just fine. He turns back to the tidal pool, wondering if his parents would let him go into the ocean just so he could set this fish, or whatever it is that got stranded here, free. 

Makoto looks down: and it looks up: and it is not a fish: and it has a human face but it is not a human, because it is so very small and because instead of legs it has a tail. 

Dropping to his knees, Makoto peers closer and finds himself looking into the bluest blue he has ever seen—and those blue, blue eyes are looking right back at him. 

Makoto's mouth opens in an "o" but no sound comes out. 

He holds out his hand and slowly lowers it to the tidal pool so that the cupped palm dips below the water line, his fingertips extended above it. The little tiny mermaid man, if that's what he is (and Makoto thinks he must be a "he," since his bare chest is flat), reaches out. When he touches one of Makoto's fingertips, the mermaid man's eyes widen, his own mouth falling open soundlessly—or if he makes a sound, it's one beyond human hearing—as he looks up. 

Their gazes meet again. The little tiny mermaid man is still holding Makoto's fingertip and Makoto smiles; the mermaid man doesn't smile back but he also doesn't let go. 

Then he climbs into Makoto's hand, his tail curving in front of him as he settles, a perfect fit. Arching and shaking out his dark locks, he reaches back to brace against the curve of Makoto's fingers as he suns himself. Makoto smiles more. 

He isn't actually sure that this _is_ a mermaid man: he thought mermaids were girls and anyhow he's never heard of them being so small. And also he thought they were supposed to have fish scales but the tail on this one is smooth and sleek. At first it looked gray but as the light catches it through the water, Makoto sees every shade of blue the world has ever invented.

His hand sinks lower as he shifts and the mermaid man's chest rises and falls, his dark lashes fluttering closed as the water laps at him. "You really love the water, huh?" Makoto whispers, softly, softly, so his voice won't hurt the little tiny mermaid man's ears. The mermaid man looks at him, blinks, expression unchanging. Even though Makoto knows the mermaid man can't understand him, he keeps whispering anyhow. "Here, come on." He uses his other hand to scoop more water into his palm, forming as tight a seal as he can, and gets to his feet. "I'll get you back home now."

The water leaks out more quickly than Makoto thought it would so he hurries faster across the wet sand, splashing into the ocean as he catches up with the outgoing tide. He doesn't want the mermaid man to get stranded again so he goes out as far as he dares, almost up to his knees. He lifts his hand to face level: the water has all leaked away but the little tiny mermaid man is still wet and he looks all right. He gazes into Makoto's eyes and Makoto wants to smile but there's a weight in his chest that's so heavy, he can't seem to lift the corners of his mouth against it. 

The mermaid man tilts his head. "It's all right," Makoto whispers. The waves are louder now that he's standing among them but he still keeps his voice as soft as he can for the mermaid man. He swallows. "Here, you're going home now." He bends down, keeping his hand near his face for as long as he can. Then he lowers that, too, so the mermaid man can jump off and ride the next wave back out to sea. 

The ocean leaps up to meet the little tiny mermaid man and Makoto is able to smile again. But as the wave touches him, the mermaid man's eyes widen and he flips onto his stomach in Makoto's hand, his own little tiny hands reaching for something to hold onto as the water pushes him off sideways. 

The mermaid man's fear shocks through Makoto. With a gasp, Makoto sticks his other hand into the water even as he feels something wrapping around his wrist. He cups his hand under, feels the little tiny mermaid man, and scoops him out of the ocean, bringing him in against his chest. 

The mermaid man's legs— _legs?_ He definitely didn't have them before but he does now, and they're wrapped around Makoto's wrist. Makoto puts his hands under his shirt, pushing it up until he's holding the mermaid man against his bare chest. He tries to turn his hand so the little tiny mermaid man can settle in his palm again but the mermaid man won't let go, so they stay like that a while. Makoto wants to tell him it's all right but he can't speak properly, and the mermaid man doesn't understand words anyhow, so Makoto just croons to him softly and wordlessly as the ocean laps about his knees.

Then he feels the mermaid man climbing over his hand, dropping into the one cupped beneath it. Makoto takes his empty hand from beneath his shirt and pulls at the neckline so he can look down: the little tiny mermaid man is standing in his hand, leaning against his chest. He looks up and their gazes meet for a moment before the mermaid man closes his eyes; Makoto feels the sigh that goes through his body.

Even if the mermaid man doesn't want to go into the ocean, Makoto knows he likes water, and surely needs it to survive. So, keeping his body straight from the waist up, he bends his knees to scoop up some ocean, which he pours inside his shirt. He feels another sigh, feels the flicks against his skin as the mermaid man shakes the droplets from his hair.

He can't put the mermaid man in the ocean but Makoto also doesn't want to strand him in the tidal pool. He doesn't know what to do. He can think of three people in the world who might know. The old fisherman's boat might still be out, so Makoto decides he'll bring the little tiny mermaid man home and ask his parents.

The mermaid man has already been out of water for a while. Even if he runs all the way home, Makoto doesn't know if he'd make it fast enough—no, it would be better to carry the mermaid man in water. He only has his pockets, though; he's never found more sea glass than fits in one, so he didn't bring a pail or anything. The water will probably just leak out but he tries it anyhow, holding out the edge of his pocket to let the ocean fill it as he crouches. Just like he thought, it rushes out as soon as he stands.

Maybe it would be all right to put the little mermaid man in the tidal pool just while he runs home to get a pail or something. But there are so many gulls around, and it's getting later and later in the morning; even though this isn't a popular section of the beach, someone else might come along before he can get back. 

Looking at the tidal pool, he gets an idea: what if he turns his _pockets_ into a tidal pool? Excited, he crouches again and scoops up a handful of sand to line his pocket, packing it nice and hard before scooping water in... but the water still runs out when he stands up. 

He really thought that was going to work and he doesn't know what to do now. He looks down at the little mermaid man, who is looking up at him. Makoto should know what to do; he's bigger, he's responsible... but he just doesn't know. 

Tears fill his eyes fast and, before he can stop them, roll down his face. They keep coming. One fat drop makes it all the way down, rolls off his face, splashes down right on the little mermaid man's head. Makoto inhales, sharp and fast, but just as he's opening his mouth to apologize, the little mermaid man shakes out his hair, scattering the broken teardrop before turning his face up to Makoto again. 

"Oh~!" Makoto breathes. He brings the little mermaid man closer to his face, to make sure he really is all right, and the little mermaid man reaches out to touch another drop that's caught just at the corner of Makoto's mouth. Makoto can't help smiling. "It's not the ocean," he whispers, even more careful now to keep his voice soft because the little mermaid man is so close, "but it's salty, huh?" For a moment he wonders if he could cry all the way home...but his tears have already slowed to a stop.

He'll have to find a way, though. There must be _something_ around here that will hold water; he just has to look harder. He walks a ways down the beach and digs a new tidal pool where the waves are still just barely touching, not enough to carry away the mermaid man but enough to fill the new pool, and builds an overhang out of wet sand for the little mermaid man to sit under.

When he puts the little mermaid man in the water, the mermaid man grabs for him, hugging his finger close. "It's okay," Makoto murmurs to him. "I'm not leaving you here. I just need to find something to carry you in, okay?" The little mermaid man looks at Makoto's mouth while he's talking, then looks up to his eyes again, his grip still tight. Makoto could pry him off pretty easily but he doesn't want to do that; he wants the mermaid man to trust him. It's hard without being able to use words, though. If only he had something to feed the mermaid man, like he does with the neighborhood cats...

Then an idea comes to him. It's not food and he doesn't know if the mermaid man will even like it, but it's all he has: he reaches into his pocket, the one without sand, and curls his fingers around the piece of sea glass he found earlier. "Here," he says, taking his hand out of his pocket, uncurling it front of the mermaid man. It doesn't glitter or anything in the sun but Makoto still thinks it looks pretty.

The mermaid man must think so, too, because he unwraps one of his arms from Makoto's finger to reach out, running his hand along a smooth edge. He looks up at Makoto's face and Makoto smiles, nods encouragingly. "This is the treasure I found," he tells the mermaid man. "I'll leave it here with you. That way you know I'm coming back. Okay?"

He puts the sea glass down in the water. The little mermaid man looks at it; looks up at Makoto; down again—and this time he lets go, dips under the water to touch the glass, picking it up by the edges. When he comes up, he shakes out his hair in a gesture that is becoming familiar to Makoto as he settles on a small rock with the glass across his lap.

"Okay," Makoto breathes with a smile. The little mermaid man doesn't smile back but something in his expression makes Makoto smile more. 

He finds the biggest piece of driftwood he can and drags it behind him through the sand as he begins the search, in case it hits something hidden he might be able to use. He doesn't know what he's looking for exactly but, as he walks and scans and digs, he knows he isn't finding it. He looks back towards the tidal pool every now and then to make sure the gulls haven't found it but mostly he keeps focused, because his father says that's the key to success.

No matter how hard he focuses, though, he can't find anything. He doesn't know how long he's been looking but it feels like a long time. Long enough that the marine layer has started to burn off. Long enough that he might have been able to run home to get a pail by now. Maybe he made a mistake, because he's been looking and looking and he can't find anything, and he doesn't know if going home now would fix the mistake or make it worse because even though it's early in the season, more people are going to start coming to this beach and they might find the little mermaid man and—

Impatiently, he wipes at the new tears with the back of his hand. It's okay for babies to cry but Makoto knows he shouldn't, even if his mother always tells him it's all right. The sun is higher now, making the waves sparkle—and as a broken wave slides back into the ocean, something is still glimmering on the sand. 

Sand kicks up behind him as drops the driftwood and runs as hard as he can. When he gets to the glimmer, he sees it's caught on a bottle. It's old, the label gone, the broken edges where the neck should be worn smooth. And it's big, as big as the saké bottles his father brings home for celebrations and special dinners—definitely big enough for the mermaid man. He digs out the bottle, grateful to the ocean for bringing it to him, and to the sun for bringing him to it.

Makoto runs back to the tidal pool and finds the little mermaid man right where he left him, holding onto the piece of sea glass. When he kneels down, the mermaid man holds up the sea glass with both hands. Makoto holds out his hand and the mermaid man looks down as he sets the piece of glass across Makoto's fingertips, then looks up at Makoto's face again. Makoto smiles and the mermaid man doesn't, of course, but there's a lightless shimmer, like a smile under his skin.

This time when Makoto holds out his hand, he slips it under the water's surface. The little mermaid man gazes at it intently for a moment before glancing up at Makoto. "It's all right." Makoto's fingers curve as he deepens the cup of his palm. The mermaid man looks up, focused on Makoto's eyes as he touches a fingertip. Makoto nods and smiles. He picked up the mermaid man before but somehow it seems important for the mermaid man to do it himself this time. 

His breath catches when the mermaid man starts petting his fingertip. It tickles—no, it doesn't tickle, exactly. Not on the outside, anyhow... He starts breathing again and there's another shimmer under the mermaid man's skin, and then he dips his head under the water, his cheek resting against the fingertip for a moment before he slides himself down Makoto's fingertips, resurfacing as he curls his tail around in Makoto's palm, sunlight catching in the droplets that flick from his hair.

Cupping his other hand under the one the mermaid man has settled in, Makoto lifts him out of the tidal pool. The water slips away through his fingers but the mermaid man is breathing easily, so Makoto does too. 

He brings his hands up carefully and tilts them against his shoulder. At first the little mermaid man only leans back into the curve of his hand, but when Makoto tilts a little more he lets himself slide out onto Makoto's shoulder, sidling closer in; Makoto's feels a gentle tug as the mermaid man wraps a hand into his hair. 

Even so, Makoto keeps one hand up by his shoulder, just in case, as he leans forward to pick up the bottle. "Look what I got for you!" he whispers. He can't see the mermaid man's face but a small hand reaches out to touch the worn glass. Makoto smiles. "Yeah." He starts to dip the bottle into the tidal pool but it's going to be a pretty long walk back to his house, since he'll have to walk very carefully, so he thinks it will be better to fill it with fresh seawater.

The tide kept going out while he was searching so he gets up and walks out to where the edge is now. When he kneels down, there's a sharp tug in his hair as the mermaid man holds on tight with both hands now. Makoto shields him with one hand as he rinses out the bottle, then lets the ocean fill it up. He holds his breath as he lifts it out, in case there are cracks his eyes didn't catch—but the water stays in. He lowers his hand and holds the bottle up to his shoulder. The tension on his hair eases a little and one small hand reaches out to touch the water; then all the tension is gone as the mermaid man flips himself into the bottled ocean. 

Somersaulting underwater, he twists smoothly so he's facing Makoto when he surfaces. He doesn't shake out his hair this time, hands hooked over the edge as he looks at Makoto now. "There," Makoto whispers. He reaches to pet the mermaid man's hair with a wet fingertip. Very, very gently: he's learned all about very gentle touches because he has a new little brother and sister. They're not as little as this, though, so Makoto is extra especially careful. 

He wipes his hands on his shirt as well as he can so he won't lose his grip on the bottle, then cradles it to his chest as he gets to his feet, letting only a little of the ocean spill. As he starts back across the sand, he keeps both hands on the bottle, occasionally raising it to eye level to make sure the little mermaid man is okay. At first the little mermaid man stays above, arms draped over the edge, but by the time they get to the seawall, he's let himself drop all the way into the water, his tail unfurled against the side as he rests on the bottom.

Climbing back over the seawall is a lot harder than it was getting in. Makoto has to walk farther down, to where the wall is low enough that he can put the bottle on top. He pulls himself up, suddenly relieved he hadn't tried carrying the mermaid man in his pocket, after all, since he would have had to take off his shorts and climb over in his underwear so the mermaid man wouldn't get smashed into the wall. You're supposed to wear more than underwear in public, so that would've been pretty bad even if he put the shorts on right away when he got to the other side. Of course he would have done it if he'd had to! But it's good that he didn't have to.

When he gets up to the road, he lifts the bottle to check on the little mermaid man again—and realizes that if he can see the mermaid man in the bottle, anyone he passes on his way through town might, too. He doesn't want that to happen, at least not before he can show the mermaid man to someone who will know what the right thing to do is. 

It's not okay to take off your shorts in public, but it _is_ okay to take off your shirt sometimes, like when you're at the shore. So that's what he does, wrapping it around the bottle with enough space so air can get in, just in case the mermaid man needs to come up for some.

Now that the little mermaid man has water for the journey, Makoto decides to go to the docks on his way home. As careful as he's being, the water is sloshing around in the bottle, some of it spilling over the sides and getting his shirt wet, so he stops now and then to check on the mermaid man. Every time he looks in, the mermaid man uncurls himself from the bottom and shoots to the surface to look right back. Makoto smiles each time and the mermaid man doesn't, but somehow Makoto knows it's okay.

As he gets close to the docks, he can see that the old fisherman's boat has come in. He starts forward into a run but immediately stops when he feels the splash his movement caused. He peers in again and the mermaid man peers up; there's still enough water that he's completely submerged when he sits at the bottom like he's doing now. Makoto will just have to remember to keep being careful. 

He walks as slowly as he can make himself go. The old fisherman is on the deck of the boat; he waves when Makoto calls to him and comes around to meet Makoto as he climbs up onto the boat. "Good morning, Makoto! What are you up to today?"

"I went down to the beach to look for things to put on the mobile my mom is making for the babies. I went all by myself!" Makoto feels his smile get bigger.

The old fisherman smiles too. "You look like you've had quite an adventure." Makoto nods. "And did you find anything good?" The old fisherman cocks one eyebrow. Makoto would like to be able to do that too; the old fisherman told him it just takes practice so Makoto has been practicing a lot in the mirror, but so far the only way to make his other eyebrow stay down is if he holds it.

He nods again, his hands tightening around the bottle. "Can I ask you something? It's about mermaids," he adds.

The old fisherman's eyebrow goes up again as he smiles this time. "Did you see a mermaid down on the beach?"

Makoto feels too serious to smile back. "My question is, are they always girls or can they also be boys?"

"Oh yes," the old fisherman says, serious now too, which is one of the things Makoto likes about talking to him. "When they're boys, they're called mermen."

Makoto nods. He wants to look at the little merman again, now that he knows what to call him properly, but he still has more questions: "Are they always the size of people or are they ever little? Like so little you can hold them in your hand? And can they magically turn their tails into legs and back again?" He takes a breath, still full of questions, then holds it, thinking maybe he's already asked too many.

Brows even, the old fisherman kneels down so they're eye level. "What did you find on the beach this morning?"

Makoto hesitates. But the old fisherman is his friend and Makoto trusts him, and this is why he came down to the docks instead of going straight home, so he takes another deep breath and holds it as he unwraps the shirt from around the bottle.

The little merman comes up and looks at the old fisherman, then over his shoulder at Makoto. Even though his expression looks the same as it has all along, Makoto feels a question. He smiles and reaches out to pet the little merman, who arches so Makoto's fingertip slips down along his back.

"Makoto," the old fisherman says, his voice very serious, but he's smiling when Makoto looks up. "This isn't a merman." Makoto didn't realize he was so puffed up with wanting it to be true; he thinks he knows what balloons must feel like when you untie the end and the air whooshes out.

But then the fisherman says, "Have you heard of Iwatobi Water Fae?"

Makoto's eyes widen as all the air comes rushing back into him. He looks inside the bottle. "Is that what you are?" he whispers. 

The ocean fairy doesn't answer. It's the old fisherman who says, in a quiet way that makes Makoto uncertain if he's speaking to him, "I wasn't on the boat with your dad's grandfather that day but I always believed him." Then the old fisherman's smile focuses as he looks from the ocean fairy to Makoto. "Yes, I'm sure of it." 

The water fae are a local legend that's been around for hundreds of years. No one knows how the legend started and it almost faded away until, many years before Makoto was even born, a fisherman—Makoto's great-grandfather, whom he never got to meet—claimed to have caught one in his net. He set it free and no one else saw it, but the legend became popular again for a while and for years after the children of the village would spend their summers looking for ocean fairies. No one ever found one, though, and the legend faded again.

"How did you catch him?" the old fisherman asks.

"I didn't catch him," Makoto says. "I rescued him." He tells the story, right up until he got to the docks. "Do you think he's okay?" he asks, holding up the bottle to look at the ocean fairy, once more sitting at the bottom. "Should I try to put him back in the bay?"

"You could," the old fisherman says, "but I don't think he'll go. He already had a chance, and he chose to stay with you."

Makoto glances up at the old fisherman's smile, smiles back and smiles more as he looks at the ocean fairy. The ocean fairy looks back, his expression calm. He _looks_ all right but—"Do you think those gulls hurt him?"

"Let's take a look," the old fisherman says.

Makoto holds his hand up to the edge as he tilts the bottle and the ocean fairy comes right out. There's another blurring flash—"See that!" Excited by their reappearance, Makoto nods at the ocean fairy's legs. 

The old fisherman leans in for a closer look and Makoto pets the ocean fairy's head to let him know it's all right. "Here, Makoto, look here—do you see these slits?" Without touching, the old fisherman points to the ocean fairy's hip and down along his leg, and when Makoto looks closely he can see them; he definitely made the right decision coming to the old fisherman, because he never would have noticed on his own. 

His brow furrows. "Did the gulls do that?"

The old fisherman shakes his head. "They don't look like injuries. I think that's where he keeps his 'tail'." The way he says "tail" makes Makoto look up. "I think it might not really be a tail," the fisherman explains. "My guess is that he has a layer of skin he keeps wrapped around his legs, making them look like a tail, and if he wants to use his legs for something, he can retract it into a pouch."

Makoto looks at the ocean fairy's legs. Ever so gently, even more gently than he is with the babies at home, he reaches out with his fingertip. As soon as he touches a slit, something shoots out, but it's gone again before he could see it. His finger hovers, curled, as he looks at the ocean fairy's face. When their eyes meet, the ocean fairy tilts his head—then wraps his legs in his tail again, unwraps them slowly enough for Makoto to follow. "Ohh~" Makoto gets all warm and wriggly inside as the ocean fairy does it again, and one more time. 

It's like a flower blooming. "I'll give you the name Haruka, then," Makoto says softly to the ocean fairy. He turns to look at the old fisherman. "Because boys can be called that as well as girls, right? Just like my name."

The old fisherman smiles. "It's a good name."

Makoto nods. "I'll call you Haru for short." Even though they haven't known each other long, he somehow thinks a nickname is all right. It occurs to him that he hasn't introduced himself to Haru, so he does now: "I'm Tachibana Makoto. I'm very pleased to meet you, Haru." He nods his head in a bow and then, since his whole hand would be too much for a handshake, holds out his finger.

Haru looks up at Makoto's face for a moment before reaching for his finger. Instead of shaking it, he leans in to rest his cheek against the tip, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath; Makoto sighs too.

The old fisherman is still studying Haru. After a moment he smiles and says, "Anyhow, I'd say you got there in time, Makoto—it doesn't look like those gulls hurt him. Just scared him a little, maybe. He's going to be fine." 

"Yep," Makoto says, then whispers to the ocean fairy, "You're going to be fine, Haru." He smiles, just a little smile, just for Haru.

"You should get him home now," the old fisherman says and Makoto knows he's right. "But thank you for bringing him to meet me." He smiles and Makoto smiles back. "Do you have something to keep him in other than that bottle?"

There's an empty goldfish bowl at home. They've never had goldfish and that's not what Haru is—but Makoto nods, and the fisherman smiles and says that's fine, then. 

He also says he'll come to the house tomorrow to see how Haru is doing. "In the meantime," he says, his face serious again, "don't show him to anyone else, except your parents. They're good people; you can trust them." 

Hearing that about his mother and father makes Makoto as happy as anything else the day has brought so far, and he's all smiles as he sets off for home, Haru curled up underwater in the bottle hugged to his chest.

 

Makoto walks fast all the way home, stopping only a couple of times to check on Haru. When he gets to his house, he pauses on the doorstep and peels the shirt down to look into the bottle: only about half the water he started with is still inside and Haru is all the way on the bottom. He lifts his head and blinks a couple of times when Makoto taps on the side, and Makoto lets out the breath he doesn't remember holding. "We're here, Haru," he whispers, holding the bottle eye level. "We're home."

He announces it again once he's inside, this time to his parents; his mother calls back from the kitchen. After taking off his shoes, he unwraps the bottle. His shirt is wet, wrinkled, and dirty but he puts it on anyhow so he'll be fully clothed when he shows them Haru.

Holding the bottle behind his back with both hands, he goes to the kitchen. His father is also there, which Makoto thinks is good because now they can both meet Haru at the same time. When she sees his shirt his mother's eyebrows go up. "It looks like someone had an encounter with the ocean." But then she smiles and says, "Did you have fun?"

Makoto nods. Now that he's standing in front of them, he suddenly feels shy about Haru. For a moment he wonders if he could hide Haru in his room and keep him secret—but he already showed Haru to the old fisherman. Anyhow his father is saying, "What did you bring back?", nodding at the hands behind Makoto's back.

So with a deep breath, Makoto brings the bottle forward and holds it up. His father adjusts his glasses and leans forward in his chair. "Now what do we have here?" Makoto takes a step, holding the bottle out closer to him.

"Makoto," his mother says, and he looks at her, "you know you have to be careful with glass. Even sea glass can be sharp and—"

The sharpness of his father's inhale cuts off her words; they both turn to look at him. Without taking his eyes off the bottle, he gestures to Makoto's mother and she goes over, bends down—and drops the cup she was washing. It doesn't break but rolls until it comes to a stop against a table leg, and then everything is quiet.

Makoto looks inside the bottle, too, and Haru looks back. He doesn't seem scared but Makoto reaches in anyhow. His father starts to say his name but stops as Haru shifts to rest his head against Makoto's fingertip.

They all stay like that a moment. Then, because neither of his parents seems able to speak just now, Makoto tells them all about how he found Haru, how he tried to put him back in the ocean but Haru didn't want to go, so he brought Haru home.

It's quiet again. Haru lets go of Makoto's finger to swim a tight circle around the bottle before settling at the bottom again.

Then his father says, "Makoto, do you know what this is?"

Makoto nods. "The old fisherman told me Haru is an Iwatobi Water Fairy." 

"Oh, was he with you when you found—Haru?" his father asks.

"No, I went to see him..." Makoto trails off, suddenly thinking maybe that was wrong; maybe he should have come to his parents first, after all.

But his mother smiles and says, "That was good thinking," and Makoto smiles too. "He's right: Iwatobi Water Fairy is one name. There are others, too."

"Like ocean fairy? That's what they're sometimes called in Dad's stories."

"Yes. And your dad has even more stories, about ocean fairies all over the world, not just here in Iwatobi."

Makoto looks at his father, who nods. "That's right. The legends aren't famous outside their villages but when I was young, before I married your mom, I did some traveling." Makoto never knew this. He nods, listening carefully. "In many of the coastal towns I visited, if I asked the right questions and listened carefully, I would hear tales of ocean fae. Each village had their own name for the ocean fae, of course, but they seemed to be describing the same phenomenon. I even met a few people who, like your great-grandfather, had been lucky enough to see one."

"What's a pheh-nom-uh-non?" Makoto pronounces it carefully. He looks into the bottle. "Is Haru a pheh-nom-uh-non?"

His father smiles; his mother is smiling too when she says yes. Beaming, Makoto whispers, "You're a phenomenon, Haru." Then he says, "What are some of the other names?" He wants to know everything he can about Haru.

"Well, if you look at the color and texture of his tail, what does it remind you of?"

Makoto holds up the bottle to look at Haru carefully. Hands on the inside wall, Haru looks back, looking down at himself to follow the line of Makoto's gaze. "When I first found him, I thought his tail was gray, but if you really look at it, it's all sorts of blue."

"Is it?" Adjusting his glasses again, his father leans in for another look. Makoto nods and holds the bottle up so the sunlight catches it just right. "So it is," his father says, sitting back. "Well, some of the people who have seen them aren't as observant as you are." He grins. "If they thought the ocean fairy's tail was gray, what do you suppose it might have reminded them of?"

"A dolphin?" Makoto guesses; it's what he thought, too, in the very beginning.

"That's right!" His father's smile gets wider. "I think this little one is what some folks call 'dolphinkin'."

"His name is Haru," Makoto says. He tilts the bottle and Haru comes right into his hand, latching onto his finger, laying his head against it and closing his eyes. "He likes to do this," he says, petting Haru's head very, very gently. 

"He's listening to your pulse," his father says.

"Is he?" his mother asks.

His father nods. "I think so. Feeling it, anyhow."

Makoto's heart beats a little harder for some reason. Haru opens his eyes, then sits up, fixed on Makoto's face. Makoto smiles to let him know it's okay and Haru does not smile but his eyes are clear and Makoto is sure he knows.

"Will he always be this little?" he asks.

"Maybe not quite _this_ little," his father says. "But my grandfather could fit the one he met in the palm of his hand and described him as being aged, maybe even elderly. It's hard to tell, but this one—Haru looks young. He might only be a boy."

"Like me?" Makoto asks.

"Just maybe." His father smiles.

Makoto looks at Haru, tail unfurled, one fluke draped off the edge of his hand. "If he's only a boy, doesn't that mean he'll grow?"

"He might—but I bet he'll always fit in your hand."

Makoto looks at Haru again and thinks about being as old as his father one day; as old as the old fisherman, and still holding Haru like this. His mouth doesn't smile but he feels his smile all over inside, and he wonders if this is how Haru feels when he shimmers under his skin.

"Is it really okay for me to keep Haru? Since he's a phemo—a phe _nom_ enon and all?"

He looks at his mother, who's looking at his father, so Makoto looks at him too. 

His father is sitting forward, studying Haru. Makoto can't be sure but he thinks Haru is looking back. He holds his breath—

Then his father sits back again. "Yes." He smiles and Makoto starts breathing again. "When he had a choice between you and the ocean, he chose you." There's something in his father's voice that Makoto has never heard before. Nothing bad—something that makes Makoto's breathing feel full and light at the same time. His father shakes his head, just a little, like he can't believe something, but he's also smiling. "So you must be worthy of his choice." He shifts his gaze to Makoto. "Do you understand?"

Makoto nods solemnly. He hugs the bottle with one arm again as he reaches inside, and once again Haru swims up to meet him. "I'm responsible for you now, Haru."

Responsibility is big. Makoto already has some responsibilities but this is the biggest one yet. He keeps looking at Haru and, as Haru looks back at him, his breathing gets all light and full again. 

Even though it's not the same, he thinks of all the ways his mother and father are responsible for him and his little brother and sister. For one thing, there's this nice house they live in. He looks at the old, broken bottle—"Dad," he says, looking up, "do you think Haru could live in your goldfish bowl? At least for now?"

His father smiles. "Of course. I'll go get it." 

After he's gone, his mother says, "He's been saving that for you. For when you win your first goldfish at a festival."

"Oh!" Makoto didn't know that; he hopes his father isn't disappointed... "Is it okay to use it for Haru, then?"

"It's more than okay." She smiles. "Do you want some lunch?"

Makoto shakes his head; he's not hungry—oh, but: "Are you hungry, Haru?" 

Haru doesn't say anything, of course, but Makoto doesn't know how long he was stuck in the tidal pool or how often he has to eat, so. "Mom, what can I give him?"

"Hmm." She puts on her thinking face and Makoto does too. "He must be used to live food in the ocean. We don't have anything like that, but I just bought some mackerel at the fish stalls this morning. I haven't cooked it yet so it's fresh and raw—why don't we see if he'll eat some of that?"

Makoto nods. "Do you like mackerel, Haru?" He knows Haru won't answer but he likes talking to Haru and, from the way Haru looks back when he's talking, he thinks Haru likes it too. 

His father comes back with the fishbowl and a plastic bag of tiny white stones while his mother is unwrapping the fish. He washes out the bowl and lets Makoto pour the stones into it. "Tomorrow we'll go down to the beach and get him some sand," his father says. "That will feel more natural to him. But at least this will give him something for now." 

Since there's not much water left in the bottle, Makoto's father gets the sea salt out and looks up how much they should mix into the bottled water his mother insisted they use instead of tap, to get the right salinity. It's been a big day for Haru already so, to help with any stress he might be feeling, they let him keep what's left of the ocean water, pouring that in as well. "Welcome home, Haru," Makoto's father says as Makoto lowers Haru to the goldfish bowl. 

Lying on his stomach in Makoto's hand, Haru leans over and swirls his hand in the water. He brings his fingers to his mouth, licks the tips—then dives off into the bowl and begins to explore.

As he watches Haru swim, Makoto puts his hand in his pocket; and finds the piece of sea glass he found on the beach this morning. "This was for the babies," he says, holding it up. In the bowl, Haru surfaces, his gaze fixed on the glass.

"I don't think they'll mind Haru having it," his mother says, so Makoto holds it out and Haru takes it right away. "You and Dad can look for more when you're at the beach tomorrow. And maybe you'll be able to find something for Haru to eat if he doesn't like this mackerel."

It turns out that Haru _does_ like mackerel, though. At first he only sniffs at the small chunk Makoto's mother has cleaned and cut for him. Cautiously, he opens his mouth and touches it with his tongue, taking a little lick—and then, faster than Makoto's eyes can follow, he grabs the chunk of mackerel from Makoto's fingers and begins tearing into it with his teeth; Makoto hadn't noticed how sharp they were before. Even so, his father says they can try to find a live food source for him tomorrow, maybe seaweed or krill, and Makoto nods at the good idea.

After watching Haru eat, Makoto feels a little hungry himself. His mother sends him to take a bath while she makes him some curry. He wants to bring Haru with him but his father says they don't know if freshwater is all right for him, so while Makoto soaks in the tub he stays in the bowl, circling lazily, coming up now and then, slapping his tail against the surface as he arcs out and slips below again.

On their way back to the kitchen, Makoto stops outside the door to the babies' room. He puts his ear against it and doesn't hear anything, so he thinks they must be asleep. He hesitates, then slides the door open, slow and careful. Holding the bowl to his chest, he tiptoes in, right up to the crib:

They're on their backs, their eyes closed, but then they stir at the same time. Makoto holds his breath, waiting for the crying to start—but though their eyes get big, they only make soft, steady breathing sounds. Makoto bends down to place the goldfish bowl on the floor. It's too heavy for him to tilt and anyhow it looks like Haru has been arranging the stones and his sea glass treasure, and Makoto doesn't want to mess that up. So he puts his hand into the bowl and, sure enough, Haru climbs into it. 

Makoto stands again, going up on tiptoe to be able to put his hand down inside the crib. "Haru, these are my brother and sister. Ren and Ran, please meet Haru. He's..." Makoto trails off; he doesn't know what to say about Haru. "Ocean fairy" is true but somehow not quite right for this important introduction. "My friend," Makoto finally settles on, and smiles because it does feel right, if not all there is to it.

Ran gurgles and Ren reaches out a hand, chubby fingers curled up into an unsteady fist. Haru tips himself forward, peering over the edge of Makoto's hand. He looks back over his shoulder and, when Makoto smiles, extends an outstretched hand to Ren, petting his hand before sitting up in Makoto's. Ran reaches up and this time it's Makoto who reaches out in turn, letting her curl around his finger for a moment.

The babies start to blink more, their blinks getting longer and longer, and soon enough they're back asleep. Makoto crouches down to let Haru slip back into the water, then picks up the bowl and walks out as carefully as he came in. Somehow he feels better, now that Haru has met everyone in his immediate family; everyone, including the old fisherman, who is most important to him.

His mother has a plate of curry waiting for him when he gets back to the kitchen. Makoto does his best to eat politely but he's suddenly so hungry, he feels like Haru tearing into the chunk of mackerel. When he's cleaned his plate, he thanks her for the meal and says he's going to take Haru to his room now. 

He kneels on his bed to push the window up more, then places the bowl on the sill, where Haru can sun himself during the day, if they find a nice rock for him tomorrow, and look up at the moon and stars at night. Makoto folds himself crosslegged on the bed and watches Haru swim around and around, until he realizes his own blinks are getting longer and longer, and he lies down for a nap.

A sudden splash shakes him awake: he sits bolt upright—and sees Haru hanging over the side of the bowl, hands clinging to the edge. Makoto cups his hand underneath and, when Haru drops into it, brings Haru to his chest for a moment. When he tries to put Haru back, Haru wraps around him and so Makoto keeps holding him as he lies back down. He thinks he'll make a ramp for Haru, so he can climb out and back in whenever he wants. 

He settles on his back, Haru curling up on his chest, right over his heart. Makoto's father has promised to teach him how to swim in the ocean this summer and, as he drifts off to sleep, Makoto decides he wants to learn how to swim on his back so Haru can come with him like this. His chest rises and falls with a deeper breath as he pictures it, and Haru rides the sigh like a gentle ocean swell, sighing peacefully in turn, almost as if he sees it too.


	2. Omake [Haru's Side]

Like all of his kind, he was born without his own heartbeat. In the shell the ocean keeps their rhythm for them; when they are ready and they emerge, their internal rhythm stops—and then starts anew as they find their own beat in the current they're born to. 

That is what he has heard but it didn't happen that way for him: there was no pause, no blossoming pulse, only the same steady rhythm he had in the shell. It happens sometimes, the elders said: sometimes one is not born into it but must search for the perfect rhythm. 

He has searched throughout the oceans and seas and not found his rhythm, the one to start his heart, anywhere. The ocean's rhythm courses through him but it is not his own and nothing in all the oceans and seas of the world can start his heart. He can survive without his heartbeat, borrowing the ocean's, but something is missing. His kind can live for thousands of moon cycles; it hasn't even been a hundred yet for him and already he's bored. Sitting in the tidal pool, gazing across the expanse of sand to the outgoing tide, he cannot imagine what thousands must be like. 

The ocean is still near enough that he can feel its rhythm flowing through him. He's walked longer distances so he lets it go a little farther away still.

He feels the chill of the shadow and looks up just as a white airgraced lets out a harsh shrill. They dive sometimes but they are slow in the ocean, which does not love them as it loves his kind. Above the water, though... 

He should have walked to the ocean when he had the chance. 

More airgraced have answered the first one's call and gathered. He has never seen them so close. Their eyes are not cruel but their mouths are, as sharp and cruel as their pointed feet. They are talking to one another, voices raised above the ocean as if to drown out his rhythm; he does not know how clever they are, if that is their plan. He cannot understand them. 

He looks around the pool but there is nothing here, nothing but water, pieces of the ocean as left behind as he has been. 

The ocean has ever been his friend and it is all he has now. He scoops up a handful of it and flings it at the nearest airgraced, setting off a new round of harsh shrilling; a sharp mouth comes at him but he dives away. He has avoided this one but he cannot keep it up forever; there are too many of them, too little ocean with him.

As long as there is some ocean with him, though, he will not give up. He flings more handfuls of water.

Distantly he hears another sound, not the ocean and not the airgraced, coming closer. The airgraced hear it too and of a sudden, take to the sky.

A new shadow falls across him and he looks up:

He has never seen one of these landbounds so close. He did not know they have faces so like his and his kind. He did not know their eyes are this green, a color he loves. 

He has heard stories about this kind of landbound. Sometimes they come out on top of the ocean, though it is not natural for them; they have made things to help them come out onto the ocean and even deep into it. There are those of his kind who are wary of this but others think they are wise to want to come to the ocean and clever to find a way to do it, though they have been cursed to be bound to the land; they are seeking a way to break free of that. 

He looks into the green eyes of this landbound...

The landbound holds out a hand. He did not know the landbound have hands so similar to his and his kind, though there is so little webbing between the fingers that he understands why they must make things to help themselves swim in the ocean. Still, there is _some_ webbing and he thinks it must be true, that once this kind of landbound lived in the ocean, so long ago that no one now remembers whether they left or were thrown out; no one but the ocean itself.

The pooled ocean shifts and laps at him as the landbound's hand displaces it. He looks curiously at the hand. He has never seen anything like it, so like his own, so different. He reaches out to touch the fingertip—

His heartbeat stops.

His heart, recognizing its true rhythm, beats anew.

There are rumors, legends of those whose hearts may only be started by a rhythm not of the ocean's making. The elders do not speak of such things but still, he has heard them. He thought they were whimsies. But now... now...

Amazement thrills through him with every beat of his heart. He looks up, into the green of his heart's rhythm. The one who started his heart makes a mouth shape that is not unlike the shape his Kin have on their mouths. He does not know how to make this mouth shape but he likes it. 

He holds onto the finger a moment longer, letting go only to climb into the spoon of this one's hand. His tail curves as he seats himself. He stretches himself for the sun, shaking an ocean spray from his hair. It is better than good.

Although the ocean does not adore him, it is merciful: it brought him here on a current, to where he and his heart could find each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _The one who started his heart makes a mouth shape that is not unlike the shape his Kin have on their mouths. _— the Kin are dolphins; Makoto's smile makes Haru think of them.__  
> 


End file.
